Today I had a follow up visit with Science.

This visit went much better than last week’s, because I was able to be seen right away, plus Robert-the-blood-guy knew exactly where to stick me in order to insure the least possible blood-taking drama.

I also met the doctor who is supervising Science.

Good News: He completely believed me when I told him that I’m experiencing reactive arthritis as a result of this illness. (Which was good for him as well, because I had loudly declared to the Universe at large that if one more person said to me, “Hm, I’ve never heard of arthritis happening as a result of C DIF”, I was going to punch them in the face.)

Bad News: When I asked him how long I could expect the arthritis to last he said, “I don’t really know. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen who had it.” (Important Cross-Referencing Note: See also, Being A Trailblazer, And Why Sometimes It Totally Sucks Ass)

Before I could leave I had to let Science take my vitals, a process which really didn’t go very well last time (as you may recall). So we made it through the temperature taking, and the weighing, and then all we had left was the blood pressure reading.

So Science, who is alleged to be a registered nurse, put the cuff on my arm, pumped it so tight I could no longer feel my fingers, and then put the stethoscope…directly over my heart. And stayed there for like, an Entire. Minute. I have no idea what she was listening to-perhaps the dying moans of my poor, deprived cells as they cried out for oxygen.

Finally she realized that something wasn’t quite right.

“Oh, what am I doing?” she asked, laughing giddily.

“I have no idea,” I replied, counting down the seconds until I would be free from the clutches of Science.

And frankly, I think that’s a question you should have asked yourself a long time ago, like perhaps back during the moment in which you were choosing your future career path.